


3 Times Miro Won't Shower with Thomas (and 1 Time He Does)

by orangina



Category: Football RPF
Genre: 3 + 1 thingy, FIFA World Cup 2014, Fluff, German National Team, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangina/pseuds/orangina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas wants to take a shower with Miro. Miro says, "absolutely not." Except for one time, he doesn't.</p><p>Take place during the World Cup, on the day of Ghana vs. Germany match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 Times Miro Won't Shower with Thomas (and 1 Time He Does)

**Author's Note:**

> New one-shot. Hope you like it. Leave a comment if you are so inclined, it will make me happy :)

**waking up**

Miroslav woke up not to the blaring of an alarm clock or the ringing of a telephone, but to the sound of an obnoxiously loud sneeze right in his ear.

He quickly fell through the hazy realm that exists between sleep and wakefulness, landing right smack on his back in a double bed. After blinking a few times, he realized that a pair of bright blue eyes was mirroring his own, mere inches away.

“Good morning, Thomas,” Miro said thickly, attempting to roll the boy off of him. After he had succeeded, he flopped onto his side facing away from the boy and ineffectively tried to summon back sleep. He could feel a wide grin spreading across Thomas’ features behind his back. Despite his annoyance at having been woken up, he could not find it in him to be cross at the boy.

“You’re awake? Good! I’m hungry, let’s go get breakfast,” Thomas practically sang. It remained a mystery to Miroslav how the boy managed to muster so much enthusiasm this early in the morning. Thomas was now shuffling about, climbing over the older man to stand next him on the side of the bed. Miro heard a light thump as his feet hit the ground. He peered at Miroslav expectantly, like a puppy wanting a biscuit. Miro half expected a tail to pop out and start wagging back and forth.

“Come _on_ , Miro.” Thomas pawed at the Lazio man, batting at his shoulders and tickling under his chin. Unfortunately, Miroslav had a strong immunity to such gestures thanks to his experience parenting two nine-year-olds. The older man remained still and calm, smiling wearily at his young teammate.

“You go ahead, Thomas. I’m not quite awake yet.”

Thomas pouted. “You _are_ though.” Then his face lit up with an idea. “Hey, I know. Let’s go take a shower together. Then you’ll be awake!”

It was hard to ignore the happy, hopeful expression on the boy’s face. But Miroslav shook his head slightly and allowed his eyes to shut again. “Maybe later, Mulli. This old man needs his rest. I’d appreciate it if you refrained from sneezing so loud that I wake up again.”

 

**at breakfast**

Miroslav was busy piling eggs and sausages onto his plate when he felt a sharp, fleeting squeeze on his behind.

“ _Thomas_ ,” he hissed, not even needing to turn around to know who the perpetrator was. “Not appropriate.” He took a step to the side, reaching for some potatoes.

But Thomas’ hand remained where it was and Miro felt the boy’s long, lanky body closing in on his own. “Relax, opa. No one’s watching us. Besides, it’s not like we haven’t done--”

“Okay, okay, enough. Keep touching my butt if that’s what makes you happy,” Miro interrupted. He turned to the boy, his face lined with curiosity. “Why are you still here, anyway? Didn’t you eat a while ago?”

Thomas grinned toothily. “Wanted to spend a little extra time with you. If you don’t mind?” The tag at the end didn’t matter; both of them knew Thomas was here to stay. Still, he tacked it on for good measures. Manners were a key factor in Miroslav’s book.

“Of course I don’t mind, Mulli.” The striker smiled back. He gathered his plate and collected his coffee. Thomas obediently followed him to an empty table where they sat down; Miro lowered himself gracefully into his chair while Thomas more accurately stumbled into his. But a destination is a destination, no matter what it takes to get there.

Thomas watched dreamily as Miroslav ate his breakfast. The older man took care to chew and swallow each bite of food before he took in another one, something he claimed that Thomas needed some serious improvement on.

“Thinking about something, Mulli?” Miroslav asked, studying the boy with prudence as he sipped his coffee.

“Always am, opa,” Thomas replied, mischief dancing in his tone. Still keeping his eyes locked on Miroslav’s, he plucked a grape from the older man’s plate and tossed it lightly at him.

Miro raised an eyebrow, causing Thomas to giggle and hit him with another grape. Then, he started scrounging the plate for more interesting things to throw at Miro. The older man did not scold him; he simply rolled his eyes and continued eating. He even had the nerve to slide on his glasses, unfold the newspaper he’d brought along, straighten it out and begin reading, effectively producing a shield to deflect whatever was thrown at him. 

Thomas’ eye on Miro the whole time, a smirk playing on his lips, he continued his little game against the newspaper. He ceased his assault only when he somehow missed his target and pelted Miro squarely in the face with a slice of orange.

He clapped a hand to his mouth as Miroslav sighed and reached for a napkin to wipe off the juice. “Sorry!”

“Oh, Thomas…” The striker shook his head, though he looked amused. “Can’t sit patiently for ten minutes, can you?”

“Can too,” the boy argued back. He folded his hands in his lap, proving his point for about two seconds before he flung them onto the table again. “Hey, now that you’re dirty maybe we could--”

“Absolutely not.” Miroslav flounced the newspaper, not even bothering to look up from the fascinating article he was reading. “No shower tête-à-têtes for you.”

 

**before the match**

The atmosphere in the locker room was static. Soon, they would be heading out onto the pitch to play Ghana. Miroslav was in his own little world. He’d done this so many times before, he had played in more World Cups that anyone else on this team, but he still treated every match like it was his first. A look of fierce concentration on his face, he swung his arms back and forth, loosening up, distributing the adrenaline that was crashing through him like a Class VI rapid.

He was so focused that he almost didn’t notice the arm wrapped around his back and the chin resting on his shoulder. “Tying Ronaldo’s record today, opa?” Thomas’ lips and warm breath tickled Miro’s ear and sent chills down his spine.

“I can only do my best, Thomas,” Miroslav replied, looking straight ahead and trying to ignore how cold he felt on the side of his body that Thomas wasn’t clinging to.

“Stop being so humble. You’re going to tie that record today and own it by the time we’re flying back home. And I’m so happy I’m here with you to celebrate,” the younger one murmured.

Miro bit his lip. He loved Thomas, but now was not the time for sexual implications. He tensed and Thomas leaned even closer into him.

“How about a nice, hot shower to loosen you up a little, opa?”

Miro could’ve sworn he felt a quick nip on his earlobe before the boy sauntered off, offering a wink as he went. Miroslav must’ve looked dumbstruck standing there alone following Thomas’ departure because Mario seemed to think it was appropriate to make a heart shape with his fingers and nod approvingly at the veteran, a smug look on his face.

 

**at the end of the day**

The image of Thomas laying on the ground, his face contorted in pain and fresh blood gushing from the wound next to his eye, was engraved in Miroslav’s mind. He could still feel the texture of the hot, thick liquid on his hand as he had crouched down to help the boy. He could not shake off the memory of Thomas’ unsteadiness on his feet, his own hand enclosed around the boy’s sweaty wrist to steady him.

That had been hours ago. Now, Thomas was okay. He’d spent most of the afternoon on the couch following his stitches, having lost his usual momentum. He hadn’t talked much, either, which was a first. Yet despite the headache Miroslav knew must be bothering him, the Bayern man didn’t complain. He even smiled weakly and thanked Miro for bringing him soup before he was knocked out by fatigue.

When Miro went to check on the boy late that night, he found that his eyes had opened and he was awake. Slowly, he kneeled down beside Thomas and quietly addressed him.

“Mulli? How’re you feeling?” Before he could decide against it, he reached out and ever so gently touched the stitched area. Thomas didn’t flinch or blink.

“I’m bored,” the boy mumbled, peering up at Miroslav with wide, innocent eyes.

The striker froze in the middle of petting Thomas’ cheek and pulled back. He raised an eyebrow, a half-smile lingering on his lips. “Really, Mulli? Out of all the things you could be right now, you’re _bored_?”

Thomas’ eyes fluttered shut again and he nodded ever so slightly so as not to rattle his headache. “Bored. I’ve been lying on this couch all afternoon with nothing to do and no one to talk to, if you haven’t realized.”

“But...you’ve been asleep.”

The boy’s lips stretched into a smile. “I’m not asleep now, am I? Can you give me a bath?”

Miro rolled his eyes, amazed at the boy’s ability to be restless even while injured and lethargic. He wondered how on earth he was going to get Thomas into the bathtub, but he knew he must find a way.

“I see no reason why not. Let me go start the water and you sit up, okay? Then I’ll come help you into the bathroom.” He touched the younger one’s forehead lightly then straightened up again to do just as he said he would.

“I can walk on my own, I’m not completely inept,” Thomas mused after him.

“Just… be careful.” Miro paused to watch the boy slowly lift himself to a seated position. Then, suppressing a sigh, he restarted for the bathroom. Dealing with Thomas was not too much different from the task of raising his boys. It wasn’t easy, but it was rewarding.

Miro bent over to turn the faucet on, filling the Jacuzzi-sized tub with hot water. He squeezed in some orange-scented bubble bath as well, knowing Thomas would get a kick out of it. Once satisfied, he started for the door to return to where Thomas was, but there was no need. The boy teetered into the bathroom, which was quickly becoming warm, humid, and pleasantly scented. He smiled when he caught the concerned look on Miro’s face.

“I’m okay, opa. Stop being so worried all the time and relax a little.”

Miro did feel the tense knots in his chest that had been there since the injury loosen up slightly. He felt mildly foolish for being so overprotective, but this was his Thomas and it hurt him to see Thomas hurting. It was wasn’t like Thomas at all to be cooped up, unmoving and in pain. In fact, it was so unlike Thomas that Miro realized he may have simply been imagining it, overwhelmed with uncertainty at the boy’s injury. But Thomas was fine. A little beat up, but perfectly fine. Miroslav watched as Thomas undressed, first removing his shirt then pulling down his sweatpants and boxers at the same time. The older man couldn’t help staring at the boy’s smooth body, his slim yet defined form, the way the muscles in his back stretched as he moved around--

“Are you just going to stare at me with that stupid look on your face all night, or get in the bath with me?” Thomas demanded, his tone colored with laughter. He raised his eyebrows, still focusing on Miro as he climbed into the tub. “Huh?”

“Yes,” Miro answered simply, giving his head a little shake. “Of course.” He felt his face grow warm as he began removing his own clothes. The entire time, he sensed Thomas’ eyes prowling his body as he revealed it.

Miroslav slid into the bath next to Thomas, the temperature of the water sending chills of pleasure across his skin and relieving his sore muscles. Without really meaning to, he scooted closer to the boy, feeling the water swishing against his movements. But before his arms could wrap around Thomas’ thin body, the boy scooped up a heap of bubbles and shoved it into the striker’s face, laughing. Miroslav knew that if his vision were not obscured by a cloud of whiteness, he’d see Thomas with his head tilted back, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open as he laughed.

Flustered, Miro brushed the foamy substance away. “Really, Thomas? Really?” He gathered up an armful of the bubbles to shove at the boy. And he didn’t stop there. He launched into a full-on tickle attack, causing Thomas to shriek and squeal a lot more than what Miro thought was necessary.

They splashed around in the bath, spilling plenty of foamy water over the sides, giggling and yelping until Thomas claimed he couldn’t breathe and Miro picked up on how ridiculously they were behaving. Suddenly, they were still again. The choppy water settled out as Thomas caught his breath, Miro’s ears picking up on every gasp for air. Thomas’ lungs were desperate at first, but once they calmed down the small, steamy bathroom was shrouded in silence.

As if pulled by some unknown force, Thomas glided across the tub and found himself on Miro’s lap, enclosed in the strong, sturdy hold of the older man. He relaxed in the comforting embrace and Miro expertly massaged his back, the slick bubble bath working wonders on his skin. Thomas felt tired again. The bubble fight had drained what little energy he possessed, and he wanted nothing but to fall asleep right here in the arms of the man he loved as warm water gently flowed around their bodies, bringing them closer together, as the pleasant twinge of orange muffled his brain. He let his head rest against Miroslav’s shoulder.

“Miro?” Thomas muttered, willing a conversation to whisk away his drowsiness.

“Mhm?” The older man mumbled into his wet hair.

Thomas paused. “I don’t remember what I was going to say.”

He felt the older man’s lips press into a smile. “Well, if you remember, I’ll be right here.” Miroslav tightened his hold on the boy, as if bringing him closer would force him to remember whatever he had forgotten, squeeze the words out of him. He pecked a soft, slow kiss to the boy’s damp forehead.

Thomas thought for another moment, watching the other man with wide eyes. “Miro?”

“Mulli?”

“I love you.”

The younger one lifted his head and looked into the striker’s deep eyes with sincerity. He bit his tingling lips shut. That was big enough a slip to last the rest of their stay in Brazil.

“Similarly.” Miroslav’s face creased with the slightest smile, the corners of his eyes quivering. Then before he could think about it, he had covered the boy’s hot, wet lips with his own.


End file.
